


Beginnings

by days_of_storm



Series: Vignettes on Ice [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Awkwardness, Falling In Love, Hangover, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Secret Crush, Victor gets to know Yuuri, Victor has a lot of feels but he's not good about recognizing them, never mind voicing them, warning: changes to the timeline/order of events in the series are made for the sake of storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: So, umm, this is my first ever non-Sherlock BBC fanfic.The idea for this tugged at my mind for a while and I finally decided to just write it down. I don't really read YoI fanfic (with the exception of a couple of Mazarin221b's fics), but I guess the content matter has been written about as often as the pool-scene in the Sherlock fandom. I don't know. This is my headcanon about what happened between the Grand Prix Final and the video of Yuuri skating Victor's programme going viral in Ep.1.*Here goes ...___________________________________________________________*Edit: Warning: I've written this and the following stories with changes to the canonical timelines and occasionally even the order of events to fit my narrative and the character development. So please be aware that I am not necessarily sticking to the timeline in the series!





	Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mazarin221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/gifts).



> So, umm, this is my first ever non-Sherlock BBC fanfic.  
> The idea for this tugged at my mind for a while and I finally decided to just write it down. I don't really read YoI fanfic (with the exception of a couple of Mazarin221b's fics), but I guess the content matter has been written about as often as the pool-scene in the Sherlock fandom. I don't know. This is my headcanon about what happened between the Grand Prix Final and the video of Yuuri skating Victor's programme going viral in Ep.1.*
> 
> Here goes ...  
> ___________________________________________________________
> 
> *Edit: Warning: I've written this and the following stories with changes to the canonical timelines and occasionally even the order of events to fit my narrative and the character development. So please be aware that I am not necessarily sticking to the timeline in the series!

Victor could not remember ever having been this hungover. For a few moments, he lay motionless, waiting for the splitting headache to cease. 

It’s fine, he thought. He’d have the day to recover and all he’d need to do is pack. He wouldn’t fly out until early the next morning and he could definitely stay in bed and enjoy the fact that he walked away with another gold medal from the Grand Prix final.

But why did he feel so terrible? Yes, he had drunk a lot last night, but not more than usual. He had also eaten for a change, so the hangover shouldn’t be as dramatic as it was. 

He turned onto his side and groaned, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he stared at the grey sky outside the hotel window. 

Yuuri. 

God. He remembered now, and a flash of nausea ripped through him. He barely made it into the bathroom before he threw up and came to sit on the cold tiles, his back against the glass of the shower cubicle. 

Yuuri, who had changed from a mediocre skater with self-esteem issues into … he couldn’t quite say what, but he had changed right in front of his eyes. He had never seen anyone move like he had, and that, considering that he had seen Chris dance a hundred times, meant quite a lot. He had known that Yuuri had been drinking too much, probably to forget his disastrous performance. But once he had started to socialise, he had become … a swan. He felt ridiculous thinking something like that, and yet …

His head was hammering away and his stomach was in knots and he really couldn’t remember feeling quite so out of sorts. 

Had he eaten something bad? If he had, the others would be sick as well, but his phone was next to his bed and he couldn’t quite be bothered to get up yet. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what had happened last night. 

Chris had immediately taken Yuuri under his wing once he had loosened his tie. They had danced, first just fooling around, but soon things had become surprisingly intense between the two and for the first time Victor had felt possessive? Jealous? He couldn’t quite say. All he knew was that he wanted Yuuri to laugh at him the way he laughed at Chris when he twirled around him in pirouettes and blew him kisses in between. 

It was strange, because while Yuuri laughed and smiled and giggled at Chris and he clearly had managed to get over the disappointment of coming last at the Grand Prix final, at least temporarily, he hadn’t so much as talked to Chris afterwards. Instead, he had danced with Victor, too, his reddened cheeks and thickening accent more adorable than Victor would ever admit, and eventually he had turned to Victor and he had touched him, timidly at first, and, when he hadn’t moved away or said anything, more self-assured, his hands on his chest, and finally around his shoulders. Hugging him tightly, he had stared up at him, begging him to come to Japan and be his coach. The condition had been that Yuuri would win a dance off. Initially, it had been great. Yurri had been a fantastic dance partner and opponent. What Victor and any of the other skaters present had not expected was that both Yuuri and Chris would strip down to their underwear and that the dance off finale would involve pole dancing. 

He, and about a hundred other guests had stared at Yuuri and Chris, giving their all and making everyone in the room uncomfortable. Only that Victor hadn’t been able to look away. The strength he saw then, the sensuality, the reddened cheeks – he had seen all of it on the ice, just before he had made the first mistake and crumbled. But now he was strong and he was self-assured and something stirred in Victor.

He gasped, realisation rushing through him as he felt how cold the tiles were against his naked skin. 

He hadn’t stayed to watch, too afraid that either of them would fall off the pole and get seriously injured. At least that was what he had told himself as he pulled his coat tightly around his shoulders and was glad for the icy wind that justified his red face. In truth, he had been afraid of what would happen if Yuuri asked for a judgement. And Yuuri would have demanded an answer…

But most of all, he had been scared of taking Yuuri’s hand and pulling him away from the crowd and making the mistake of taking advantage of him when nothing at all had indicated before that Yuuri had any interest in him. Not like that. And even now that he thought about it, despite his heavy head and heavier heart, nothing about Yuuri’s proposition had been of a sexual nature. The dancing, yes, but that was for show. Even the breakdance which had had Yuuri’s shirt riding up all the way to his chest, and which had made Victor fairly uncomfortable in his tailored trousers.

But he had asked him to be his coach. A failed skater who lacked self-confidence on the ice and who had to be drunk out of his head to be able to let go. And god, had he let go.

Victor rubbed his face and felt like throwing up again. 

He really, truly would have liked to bring Yuuri back to his hotel room and give him the attention he had seemingly needed. And yet he was really, truly glad that he hadn’t. 

Shivering, he managed to drag himself up and into the shower, where he stayed for a long time, feeling hot water rush over his shoulders, returning warmth to his bones. He couldn’t remember feeling that miserable after a win. Everything had gone well in Sochi, there was no question about it. But it felt hollow somehow, as if the person skating hadn’t really been him. 

He wondered if he should make an appointment with his therapist, but then he considered just talking to Chris before flying home. He usually managed to set his head straight. 

Once he had dragged himself out of the shower and back into the bedroom, he climbed back into bed, still wet but uncaring, and checked his phone. Nobody seemed sick he could presume from his twitter feet, showing several of the skaters already out, doing the last bit of sight seeing before flying home. 

He swallowed hard when he opened the WhatsApp massage he had received from Chris. 

_Oh my. Who would have thought?!_

He had attached a selfie of himself and Yuuri, both bleary-eyed but flushed with happiness. 

_Feed the man some champagne and …_

The second photo showed Yuuri pressed against him. Victor pulled the duvet close to his chin, feeling the need to hide from the world as he looked at the photo. Yuuri was full on hugging him and Victor’s hands hung loosely at his side. God, what an idiot he had been. He hoped that Yuuri wasn’t upset about his lack of reaction. He had seemed so utterly serious about his request. And hopeful. 

It was the hope in his eyes that had had the strongest effect on Victor. He was used to people wanting things from him. They wanted his time, his attention, his smile, his perfect performance. But Yuuri wanted his advice and that was what broke Victor’s heart. But it wasn’t pity he had felt, which might have been justified considering his weak performance that season. It was the fact that he had seen his potential, and that Yuuri pinned so much hope on him to unlock that potential, which had touched him more than he had realised last night, and more than he was willing to admit to himself now. 

_Breakfast, darling?_

Victor groaned and weakly typed his answer to Chris. 

_Sorry, need a bit more sleep._

He knew he would be mocked for it, but he couldn’t face Chris now. Chris would gush about last night and there would be more photos and he’d make fun of him and of Yuuri and he’d mention Yuuri’s dancing skills and possibly his incredible arse and …

“Oh, stop it, Victor!” he chided himself and dropped the phone onto the night stand, hiding under his duvet. 

For a moment he stayed like this, curled up under the duvet, ignoring the world and trying to quiet his mind. Then the queasy feeling in his stomach returned and he carefully stretched. He should probably drink some water and maybe even try food. 

He had a late breakfast before he went downstairs to use the gym to get rid of the pent-up frustration, swam a few lengths in the hotel pool and then faced the inevitable. Chris would take him out for dinner, and, according to Chris, he had no other choice. They wouldn’t see each other in a while and Chris would not spend the last evening in Sochi alone. 

When he arrived at the place Chris had mentioned, he was relieved to see that they wouldn’t be alone. Yuri, Michele and Sara were also there. Feeling somewhat guilty at his relief, he joined them, saying little, eating slowly and only drinking as much vodka as he dared. His stomach was still not quite right. 

Yuri was the first to leave, as his grandfather called to tell him to go to bed. Red faced and with the usual pretended arrogance, he tucked his wallet out of his backpack. He was truly flabbergasted when Victor told him that he’d pay for his meal. Not quite knowing how to save face, Yuri nodded at him with a grunt, gently kicked one of the legs of Victor’s chair and then walked out. 

Chris grinned at Victor, shaking his head. “I cannot wait for him to grow up so we can tease him about how terrible he was as a teenager.”

“Oh, come off it, you weren’t … well,” Victor chuckled. “You were different, in your own way.”

Sara laughed and touched Victor’s arm which immediately led to Michele’s features darkening. Victor would have loved to tell him off for being so obsessively protective of his sister, but he wasn’t sure how well that would go down, so he didn’t remark on it. 

“How was he, exactly?” Sara asked and winked at Chris. 

“Oh,” Victor leaned back and grinned at Chris. “Flamboyant. Always.”

“And you were always untouchable,” Chris shot back. “You should have seen him when he was sixteen,” he shook his head. “A fucking fairy prince.”

Victor shook his head with a fond smile. “And I’m not anymore?”

“You’re a king now,” Chris sighed and leaned forward. “The hair, though. That was kind of a shame.”

“Oh, come off it. It was in the way most of the time.”

“It looked amazing, though,” Sara agreed and Victor felt unduly criticised. He knew they were his friends, but it had been his decision. He had to let go of it so he could move on. At least that had been the theory. In the end, he still felt stuck. 

Michele decided that they should leave, and Victor knew better than to hug Sara. Instead, he hugged Michele, telling him to take it easy. Sara did get a very tight hug from Chris, though, but since Chris was so obviously not interested in his sister, Michele did not seem to feel threatened. If he only knew, Victor thought, closing his eyes for a second as his stomach began feeling funny again. 

“You alright?” Chris asked after they were alone. 

“Stomach bug or something. I think I overdid it last night.”

“Oh, come on. You didn’t even dance properly.”

“I already felt a little under the weather,” he lied and Chris squinted at him. 

“I was wondering why you just disappeared.”

“Sorry. It’s just … this whole year …”

Chris nodded. “You were amazing, Victor. Look at the recordings. See how beautiful you are on the ice.”

“It doesn’t feel like it used to, though, you know?” Victor finished his vodka and pulled on his scarf. “Will I see you at the airport tomorrow?”

Chris nodded. He seemed sad and Victor wondered whether Chris knew about his plans to take a break. Or quit entirely. He wasn’t sure yet, and he hadn’t told anyone about it. 

As he walked home, he realised that Chris had not talked out the previous night and he wondered why that was. Maybe he didn’t want to tease him any further, and maybe he had … what if he had gone home with Yuuri? No, if something had happened he would have bragged about it. This was Chris after all. But had he taken him to his hotel room? Made sure that Yuuri, drunk out of his mind as he had been, had gotten back to his room safely?

 _Chris. Did you make sure Yuuri got home safely last night?_

His fingers were cold against the screen of his phone, but he needed to make sure. 

_Of course I did._

A few moments later.

_Took you long enough to ask …_

Victor felt himself blush and he quickly made his way inside the hotel and impatiently pressed the elevator button. 

The door opened and there he was. Dark eyes behind his glasses, with shadows underneath them. He looked miserable and hungover and scared. Shocked almost, to find Victor in front of him, as he took a step back before he mumbled an excuse and rushed out of the elevator and past him. 

Victor turned to watch him walk away quickly, shoulders drawn up almost defensively. Victor’s hand settled against his stomach and for the first time he could identify the queasy feeling for what it was. 

Butterflies.

***

He saw a glimpse of him at the airport and said his name, hoping he’d react. And he did turn around, staring at him as if he had no idea what to do, so he pretended to have meant the other Yuri. Feeling like he was missing a chance, Victor had taken the opportunity to ask for a photo with him, hoping to get a few moments alone with him. But it had come out wrong and arrogant and he regretted his clumsiness immediately.

And Yuuri’s eyes had widened, if only for a second, but then he had turned away from him, a glint in his eyes. Was he about to cry? He had walked away before he had the chance to ask again.

But then the press had had him in their grasp and it was impossible to talk to Yuuri then. He knew he could ask someone for his number, but they had barely talked during the season and he knew that Yuuri felt embarrassed and the last thing he wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable by being patronising. He put on his media smile and answered questions until his flight was announced. 

***

After rumours of it had already been shared in whispers during the Grand Prix the following year, he eventually told Yakov that he would quit, and somehow the news must have leaked because for the next ten days he received one angry text from Chris after the next. He had expected it, but it also bothered him that he couldn’t understand why he needed a break.

Nothing he had done all season had satisfied him. He wasn’t proud of his medal and he wasn’t proud of his programme and he felt trapped, no matter what he tried. Even training with Yuri wasn't as exciting as he had hoped it would be. Yuri was fantastic, but he was also hard work, and while he enjoyed watching him make progress, he felt that he himself had nowhere to go. So he told Yakov that he would not compete next season and that he would focus on finding his muse again. He had stopped surprising the audience, and himself. It had been his driving force and now he felt tired of it all. 

But days went by and he did not feel any better. He tried yoga, he tried running until he thought his heart would burst, he tried ballet and diving, but no matter how good he was and how much he demanded of his body, he just didn’t feel like he belonged anymore. 

So he took to walking the streets of St. Petersburg, but what he had hoped would lend him peace of mind only led to people recognising him in the streets - Candid photos of him showed up online, leading to Chris accusing him of throwing his talent away for a bath in the masses. 

He also drank, a lot, and by himself, and that was the worst, because he never quite managed to break out of the vicious cycle of being bored of himself and being disappointed that he did not manage to find inspiration again. 

So he stopped drinking eventually, sticking to tea and healthy food, working out less often but with more care. He took longer baths. Hooked up with an old friend when he needed release, always earning snarky comments from Chris when he confessed to him. But Chris was still angry when the air turned warm in the spring sunshine and nobody thought of figure skating at all. 

He had not left his flat in about a week, ordering food when he felt like it, working out in his private gym when he felt restless, reading books he had always wanted to read, when Chris sent him a message that ripped him out of his stupor.

_WATCH THIS. NOW!_

He clicked on the link Chris had sent along and for a few seconds he simply thought that Chris had finally realised that Victor had been infatuated with Yuuri after last year's Grand Prix final and hoped to cheer him up, but what he saw was himself, on the ice, only smaller, less skinny, less skilful, but with fantastic footwork, strong jumps, dark hair and beautiful dark eyes and a timid smile, and he remembered Yuuri’s request. The hope in his eyes. The strength in his arms as he hugged him. 

The last second of the video showed Yuuri breathless and alive and so full of love for the programme he had just skated that Victor felt as if he had just been slapped awake. For the first time in months he knew that he had wasted too much time already. 

The next time he woke up, his plane had just landed in Fokuoka, and, knowing that Hasetsu, and therefore Yuuri, was just a 90 minute train ride away, Victor not only felt butterflies again, but, for the first time in a year, he felt inspired.


End file.
